Nothing starts your day off right quite like waking up at 6:30 in the morning on your own.
I woke up early to beat the hoards of terrible Catholics who seem to cram churches only on special occasions.
Ash Wednesday is particularly difficult, because:
1- I fast all day... so I'm already cranky and ready to stab a... moron if they invade my space.
2- The bad Catholics who pack the church only get worse as the ashes are about to be placed on people's foreheads. NOTHING irritates me more than an imbecile (not a cuss word. Deal with it) who only shows up for the imposition of the ashes (I think that's what it's called?) which is at the very end of the hour long mass (really, come on. It's AN HOUR. People spend over an hour mindlessly surfing Facebook, don't give me that bologna!). It's the thing that irks me the most.
Anyway, I went to the earliest mass, 7:30AM, which was in English.
No, I still don't know how to pray in English, but hey, I can read the scriptures and stuff that are in the book... and I definitely understand the priest's sermon. I was right at home... except when praying was involved.
I had a laugh-attack before mass started. I don't know if it was the hunger, or the lack of sleep, but I started to laugh (out loud) when I noticed how old everyone in church really was. No one there was below the age of 60... SERIOUSLY. For some reason, I found this hilarious, and in my lunacy, I giggled like a baby (no, really, a baby)... for about 30 seconds... uncontrollably. The more I tried shutting up, the more I'd laugh... especially when I'd see the poor old people look back at me in fear.
Then I giggled some more when I noticed D getting irritated.
I had to think of a sad memory in order to get some sort of control over myself. I also had to close my eyes and not look at anyone. GRAY HAIR was making laugh.
Way to make my people more likable to the church white folk who are already irritated by us loud, obnoxious Latinos. Way to go, AnoMALIE!
Anyway, besides my irreverent display of... the giggles, everything went fine... because white people behave themselves! Spanish mass is a circus with all the crying/screaming/running babies (I'm such a grouchy old lady).
I came home and decided I wanted to gym-it.
Only one tiny problem: I cussed at a lady as I drove to the gym. I said one bad word, in spanish, and caught myself.
I'm still good, though, because that's the only cuss word I've dropped... no, wait, I cussed in the morning because I got acetone in one of my paper-cuts. BUT, no one has been around to hear me cuss, so I still think I'm ok.
I'm speaking like... almost Ned Flanders. Everything is a "moron," "jerk," or "dum-dum." I'm "sheesh"ing and "crud"ing. There are also a lot of "fudge-sicles" and "hole-y macaronis" in my life right now.
It's... a sight to see.
But of course, this brings me to a topic that almost made me lose my cool, and threatens to relegate me to trucker status:
As if on purpose, I received my invitation to the EuroTrash party last night.
It immediately caused conflict in my head.
I want to go. Why? Because there's this ridiculously handsome guy going. By "ridiculously handsome" I mean "what kind of deal did your parents strike up with the devil... and can I meet them so I can shake their hand?!" The "Hi. I... just forgot my name..." type beautiful.
He looks like David Beckham when Becks was in his 20s. He's THAT good looking.
I don't think he'll pay attention to me, not at all, but hey, I don't mind just being in the presence of such beauty. NO straight girl minds being in the presence of unbelievable male beauty.
Then, once I control my hormones and slap the idiot teen girl that lives inside me, I remember how pretentious the entire event will be.
Uh, hello! You were slighted and only added once you showed humility... well, more like... submissiveness. You really gonna punk out like that, moron?
I won't be missing out on much if I refuse to RSVP.
I "made peace" by basically biting my tongue each time Birthday Boy said something outrageous or... self-aggrandizing (I'm surprised I can still talk). I also talked sports with him... I'm talking "I gave Gorman High School props" type talking (everyone knows I DESPISE their sports teams. They were by and far the worst when it came to proper sportsmanship conduct). That was all, though. That's as much brown-nosing that my stomach will permit.
I didn't do it in hopes of getting a party invite. I did it because--I can't lie-- I felt terrible about knowing I upset Birthday Boy so much, he went to the extreme of publicly... hating on me. This guy, while quite full of himself, never bothers to address the haters... and suddenly you had him getting all "Twitter-War!" on me. It was killing me (with both rage and sadness). I just wanted to let him know that while he did upset me, I sincerely lamented ever hurting HIS feelings in the first place... even if it was a misunderstanding.
I also think he started to feel guilty... 'cause come on, how can anyone be mean to me when all I am is nice? That, and maybe the fact that he invited both of my siblings, and both WILL attend (that's right, Rafa is making a special appearance and flying all the way from Jersey) probably got to him.
Whether it was a guilt trip, or forgiveness... or some hidden, cruel motive (wouldn't that suck?), Birthday Boy decided to invite me last night.
Party's Friday.
I have yet to RSVP. I just stare at the invite and beat myself over the head trying to make a decision.
I don't want to be part of the lofty crowd... but I also don't want to further anger/irritate/insult Birthday Boy by not showing up to his event.
Decisions, decisions.
You know what I didn't have a hard time deciding on? My manicure:
I tried showing off the blue, purple, and silver glitter... because they make me feel girly. It didn't really work... but eh.
Which reminds me, I have to explain my reason why manicures made my Lent list:
I don't put much effort in looking girly. I go through phases where I do my nails on a regular basis, but then there are times when I grossly neglect my hands. I find I'm in the mood to do my nails when I'm upbeat and happy. So, I'll keep my nails nice to show the world that Hey, I'm happy, and I care.
But don't worry, I'm just filing my nails and painting them... not giving myself talons:
Seriously, ladies-- WHY?! You look DANGEROUS (if not deranged) with those things.
I woke up early to beat the hoards of terrible Catholics who seem to cram churches only on special occasions.
Ash Wednesday is particularly difficult, because:
1- I fast all day... so I'm already cranky and ready to stab a... moron if they invade my space.
2- The bad Catholics who pack the church only get worse as the ashes are about to be placed on people's foreheads. NOTHING irritates me more than an imbecile (not a cuss word. Deal with it) who only shows up for the imposition of the ashes (I think that's what it's called?) which is at the very end of the hour long mass (really, come on. It's AN HOUR. People spend over an hour mindlessly surfing Facebook, don't give me that bologna!). It's the thing that irks me the most.
Anyway, I went to the earliest mass, 7:30AM, which was in English.
No, I still don't know how to pray in English, but hey, I can read the scriptures and stuff that are in the book... and I definitely understand the priest's sermon. I was right at home... except when praying was involved.
I had a laugh-attack before mass started. I don't know if it was the hunger, or the lack of sleep, but I started to laugh (out loud) when I noticed how old everyone in church really was. No one there was below the age of 60... SERIOUSLY. For some reason, I found this hilarious, and in my lunacy, I giggled like a baby (no, really, a baby)... for about 30 seconds... uncontrollably. The more I tried shutting up, the more I'd laugh... especially when I'd see the poor old people look back at me in fear.
Then I giggled some more when I noticed D getting irritated.
I had to think of a sad memory in order to get some sort of control over myself. I also had to close my eyes and not look at anyone. GRAY HAIR was making laugh.
Way to make my people more likable to the church white folk who are already irritated by us loud, obnoxious Latinos. Way to go, AnoMALIE!
Anyway, besides my irreverent display of... the giggles, everything went fine... because white people behave themselves! Spanish mass is a circus with all the crying/screaming/running babies (I'm such a grouchy old lady).
I came home and decided I wanted to gym-it.
Only one tiny problem: I cussed at a lady as I drove to the gym. I said one bad word, in spanish, and caught myself.
I'm still good, though, because that's the only cuss word I've dropped... no, wait, I cussed in the morning because I got acetone in one of my paper-cuts. BUT, no one has been around to hear me cuss, so I still think I'm ok.
I'm speaking like... almost Ned Flanders. Everything is a "moron," "jerk," or "dum-dum." I'm "sheesh"ing and "crud"ing. There are also a lot of "fudge-sicles" and "hole-y macaronis" in my life right now.
It's... a sight to see.
But of course, this brings me to a topic that almost made me lose my cool, and threatens to relegate me to trucker status:
As if on purpose, I received my invitation to the EuroTrash party last night.
It immediately caused conflict in my head.
I want to go. Why? Because there's this ridiculously handsome guy going. By "ridiculously handsome" I mean "what kind of deal did your parents strike up with the devil... and can I meet them so I can shake their hand?!" The "Hi. I... just forgot my name..." type beautiful.
He looks like David Beckham when Becks was in his 20s. He's THAT good looking.
I don't think he'll pay attention to me, not at all, but hey, I don't mind just being in the presence of such beauty. NO straight girl minds being in the presence of unbelievable male beauty.
Then, once I control my hormones and slap the idiot teen girl that lives inside me, I remember how pretentious the entire event will be.
Uh, hello! You were slighted and only added once you showed humility... well, more like... submissiveness. You really gonna punk out like that, moron?
I won't be missing out on much if I refuse to RSVP.
I "made peace" by basically biting my tongue each time Birthday Boy said something outrageous or... self-aggrandizing (I'm surprised I can still talk). I also talked sports with him... I'm talking "I gave Gorman High School props" type talking (everyone knows I DESPISE their sports teams. They were by and far the worst when it came to proper sportsmanship conduct). That was all, though. That's as much brown-nosing that my stomach will permit.
I didn't do it in hopes of getting a party invite. I did it because--I can't lie-- I felt terrible about knowing I upset Birthday Boy so much, he went to the extreme of publicly... hating on me. This guy, while quite full of himself, never bothers to address the haters... and suddenly you had him getting all "Twitter-War!" on me. It was killing me (with both rage and sadness). I just wanted to let him know that while he did upset me, I sincerely lamented ever hurting HIS feelings in the first place... even if it was a misunderstanding.
I also think he started to feel guilty... 'cause come on, how can anyone be mean to me when all I am is nice? That, and maybe the fact that he invited both of my siblings, and both WILL attend (that's right, Rafa is making a special appearance and flying all the way from Jersey) probably got to him.
Whether it was a guilt trip, or forgiveness... or some hidden, cruel motive (wouldn't that suck?), Birthday Boy decided to invite me last night.
Party's Friday.
I have yet to RSVP. I just stare at the invite and beat myself over the head trying to make a decision.
I don't want to be part of the lofty crowd... but I also don't want to further anger/irritate/insult Birthday Boy by not showing up to his event.
Decisions, decisions.
You know what I didn't have a hard time deciding on? My manicure:
 |
| Please excuse my manly deltoid... she's out of control. Instead, be distracted by how those 3 fingers look like they belong on 3 different hands |
Which reminds me, I have to explain my reason why manicures made my Lent list:
I don't put much effort in looking girly. I go through phases where I do my nails on a regular basis, but then there are times when I grossly neglect my hands. I find I'm in the mood to do my nails when I'm upbeat and happy. So, I'll keep my nails nice to show the world that Hey, I'm happy, and I care.
But don't worry, I'm just filing my nails and painting them... not giving myself talons:
 |
| Neta? Que onda con esto? DAN MIEDO! |
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